


The Apocalypse 2.0

by possiblyfictional



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Annoyed Castiel, Castiel has a Sense of Self-Preservation, Dean is a Little Shit, Pranking, Pranks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possiblyfictional/pseuds/possiblyfictional
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After eleven years, the Winchesters finally finish the prank war that was started in Season 1. Cas is not amused. Birds are involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Apocalypse 2.0

Sam was two inches from throwing a fit.

For some reason, about  _eleven fucking years late_ , Dean was starting up that prank war again. And Sam would understand if Dean had done this, like, seven years ago, but he thought they were past this by now.

That morning, Sam had opened the bunker fridge to see his fancy-schmancy yogurt (who was going to stop him from buying the expensive stuff, it’s good) had a little sticky note on it with the words “for eleven years ago” written on it. He wasn’t really thinking, just assuming that he had made some lame bet with Dean in their first year of this incredibly freaking long road trip, come to think of it, and Dean was repaying what he never had. But Sam had never been so lucky. No.

Sam had taken one bite of his damn yogurt and instantly knew Dean had tampered with it. How his brother had placed the lid so it looked like nothing had happened, Sam had no idea, but he’s blaming Cas for that. Instead of the yogurt tasting like the five-dollar-for-two-cups strawberry heaven that Sam was expecting, it tasted like strawberries that had been soaking in salt water since the  _dawn of time_.

After coughing up that mess, Sam had glared at the little yellow label he had ignored, innocently sitting on the bottom of the trash can, where Dean belonged.

“Oh, it’s  _on,”_  Sam muttered, dejectedly tossing the rest of his yogurt cup in the trash after confirming that it all tasted like Lucifer had possessed his yogurt. And then pissed in it.

Cas meandered into the kitchen then, looking impeccable. The younger Winchester rolled his eyes and harrumphed, turning away from Cas and looking in the still-open fridge for something to eat that didn’t taste like suffering.

“Sam, you’re not sick, but why do you sound like it?” Cas asked, partially confused, mostly amused.

“Dean began his end,” Sam answered, mulling over his options.

Cas cocked his head to the side, a hint of concern on his face. “Well, enjoy your brother’s demise.” The end perked up into a question, and Sam snickered.

“Nah, I’m not actually going to kill him, but there’s a prank war that’s waited over a decade to be finished. So, I’m finishing it,” the younger Winchester replied, and Cas nodded.

“Contact me if you require my assistance.” The resident angel looked horrified at the grin Sam gave him, and he was quick to add a “Never mind, actually.”

“Make sure Dean knows that, or else I can’t guarantee your safety,” he warned, searching through the kitchen cabinets for plastic wrap. Yeah, he was that petty. Dean had messed with his yogurt. Cas nodded, shuffling uncomfortably, then leaving as fast as angelically possible.

And that was the beginning of what Cas decided to dub the Winchester Apocalypse.

* * *

 

Not ten minutes later, Dean had run into the plastic wrap in the doorway and landed on his ass in the hallway. Sam had laughed so hard he choked on his own spit while Dean grumbled about it for the next ten minutes, muttering profanities and “Shut up, Sam”s.

From then on, it was all-out war, and it was horrifying.

That night, Sam had screamed like a woman about to die in a horror movie when he thought his shampoo had been replaced with Nair. Dean fell over laughing because of the looks of sheer horror and panic Sam was giving him while his hair was covered in blue cheese and smelled like said cheese. The only reason the grey-green globs weren’t falling to the floor was the towel around Sam’s waist. Dean wasn’t sorry.

Well, he was a little when Sam had managed to add that hot sauce that tasted like it came from Satan’s armpit into his morning coffee the next day. He didn’t even know why they  _had_  that stuff, but there it was, in his coffee. Pure Hell™.

Cas kept clear whenever he heard shouting and profanities, in an act of pure self-preservation. Alas, he missed out on seeing the Winchester’s faces when something new happened to them, courtesy of the Eleven-Year-Prank-War. Yet he knew that those expressions weren’t worth what the Winchesters would do to him if he was chosen as their next target.

There was hardly a break in the chaos. The lip on Sam’s mug was coated in black, non-toxic paint, and it had given him the terrible black mustache ring from all the classics. And Dean didn’t mention it until after they had interviewed someone for a case.

An hour later, Dean’s music was somehow switched, so all he could find was stuff by people he hated and old stuff from the 80′s that sounded like dying cats and people in bell bottoms grooving off a crappy stage. Sam had faced another hour of yelling, but it had been worth it.

He was biting that opinion back when, the next day, he found that all his flannels had been replaced with tourist shirts to places like George, Washington. How that had even happened (and why Dean had so many tourist shirts, actually) was beyond his knowledge, but he stayed in his pajamas for two days until he got his clothes back.

And then Dean had been given the plastic-wrap-over-the-toilet treatment. Sam had laughed so hard that Dean was honestly concerned, but he was more concerned with the fact that  _he was barefoot_  when it had happened to be very kind and caring. The whole situation had even made Cas crack a grin, which had made him subject to a lot of yelling that kept going back to “Dean, I didn’t do anything.”

There was pieing each other, surprise spray-painting when they turned a corner, removing bookmarks, everything in Sam’s room moved three inches to the left and two inches lower, Dean’s entire arsenal covered in My Little Pony stickers (”They won’t leave any residue behind, Dean.”), Cas letting Sam use his tie to blindfold Dean while he was asleep and then wake him up with whipped cream on his outstretched hand (the scariest task of the entire war), and anything and everything two of the world’s greatest hunters could think up.

Somehow, Cas remained above it all.

Until he wasn’t.

It was finally over when Sam had made a little voodoo doll Dean, and then proceeded to paint him with shittily-drawn little stars and hearts and dicks. Dean had given in, a yellow heart over his eye.

“DAMMIT, FINE, SAM, I’M DONE! I AM  _DONE!_  GET THIS OFF ME - DID YOU JUST DRAW ANOTHER -  _STOP IT!_ ” he screeched, pawing at the shoddy drawing of a green dick with blue wings on his left elbow.

Sam stumbled into Dean’s bedroom,  _giggling,_  wielding a tiny yarn Dean, covered in little doodles.

“You think you’re so goddamn funny, don’t you?” Dean asked as Sam looked at his handiwork, a new wave of bubbly laughter escaping him despite his attempts to school his face into a serious expression.

Sam nodded, leaning against the door, a smile that was exceptionally wide evident as he compared the little Dean to the real one. “I’m not sure if I’m done, I think I need to draw another little dick over your heart, what do you-”

“Stop it! I quit! I give in! Nononono I’ll buy you that ridiculouslypricedyogurtifyou would _stop iT_  - SAM!” his tone was a little more frantic as Sam raised the paintbrush again.

As quickly as the words had tumbled out of Dean’s mouth, Sam put down the paintbrush, grinning victoriously, gently placing the voodoo doll on the table near to him as he sauntered into the room.

“I hate you,” Dean groaned, looking at himself in the bedroom mirror.

“I know you do,” Sam agreed, voice light and airy, a bit breathy from laughing.

Even though Sam was a  _complete ass,_  Dean also knew that he hadn’t seen Sam grin that wide in years. Although he hated what happened to get his little brother to smile that wide, maybe - maybe - it was worth it, to an extent.

“So, we agree that after two weeks of hell, we’re good?” Dean queried, studying the other little marks on his body, courtesy of Sam.

“Buy me the good yogurt?”

“Fine.”

“We have a deal.” Sam extended his hand for Dean to shake. When he did, he was shocked. Literally.

“Okay, seriously?!”

“Now we’re good.”

“We forgot about someone, though.”

“What the hell?”

“Cas.”

“What do you - oh.  _Oh.”_

“Yeah.”

“Wanna know what I have in mind?”

“I don’t think I want to, but I do.”

* * *

 

“That’s going to end up with us smited, I hope you know that.”

“Are you in?”

“Hell yeah.”

* * *

 

Cas fell onto his bed in his room, tired of the grins and glares Sam and Dean kept giving each other.

He let the silence of the room sit, let it fill him, let it calm the thunderstorm of tension, let it spiral into peace in the quiet.

And then.

_Beep!_

Cas looked around, with no idea where that had come from.

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

He turned back around, unsure of where -  _beep!_  - that annoying-as-all-hell -  _beep!_  - sound was -  _beep!_  - coming from, and why it was randomly making noises.

_Beep!_

For some reason, its uneven pattern wasn’t letting him locate where the sound was coming from. After a few minutes of searching, he gave up. It wasn’t making any noises right then.

He settled back down on the bed, removing the coat from his shoulders and draping it on the edge of the bed.

After sitting on the on the mattress, Cas let himself fall back, reaching up and using one hand as a pillow and resting his other hand on his belly. He shut his eyes, sighing contentedly, drifting into the meditative state that was the most like sleep angels got.

_Beep!_

He flinched, then growled, low and sharp under his breath.

He ignored the tittering just outside his door, coming from two  _fully grown men_  who are literally  _messing with an angel_  with the ability to  _throw them both back into Hell_  and  _call it another Tuesday night_.

Instead, he sat up, picked up his coat and put it on, and left the room, shooting a glare that demons would run from at both Winchesters.

Of course, the two humans were both idiots, so they didn’t care.

Cas tried to avoid his room all night, but he couldn’t. All his books were there.

So, he was forced to listen to random blips and beeps at random moments, and oh, Father, Sam and Dean were going to pay.

* * *

 

Cas held out three days.

He couldn’t handle it. It was the most annoying thing he’d ever heard, and Lucifer and Gabriel were his brothers.

Finally, he burst into the library, glaring at Sam and Dean.

“I want the thing out of my room before I throw your sorry asses back into Hell,” Cas threatened, fixing Dean with a poisonous glare.

“Alright, alright, fine! Fine! We’ll get it out,” Dean agreed calmly, raising his hands in surrender from where he was sitting by a few textbooks. Sam put down the Lord of the Rings book he was reading, hiding a grin cleverly with his goddamn hair. Goddamn it.

Dean led the way to Cas’ room, followed by an angry and highly annoyed angel, who was pleased to see Dean squirming under his relentless glare. Even Sam was a bit uneasy.

When they entered Cas’ room, all they could hear was a loud  _beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep_. Sam winced, glancing at Cas.

Begrudgingly, Sam manifested a screwdriver from somewhere (why the boys carry tools, Cas didn’t know anymore) and pulled off the metallic covering for the air vent, pulling out a little contraption. It was now silent, like it was afraid of the light.

Sam stood up and handed the thing to Cas, who deftly broke it in half before it could dare to make another sound. When it made a half-assed beeping noise, seemingly in retaliation, Cas brought out his angel blade, dropped the thing on the floor, and drove his blade into it.

That silenced that.

“Are we done?” Cas asked after a few seconds of glaring at the machine, turning his gaze to Sam, who had a sheepish look on his face.

“I think so,” Sam agreed, ducking slightly under the intensity of Cas’ expression. Finally. At least one Winchester knew what he was dealing with.

“Good.”

Dean snorted.

And then Sam absolutely fucking lost it.

Cas left, and took all the flannels with him. To an undiscovered cave in the middle of the Arctic. A cave that was currently the home of a great many birds.


End file.
